Nerve Coil

I sat up with my back against the headboard of my bed, looking up and away into the corner of my ceiling, staring hard at nothing, causing everything outside of my immediate field of vision to turn black. I was comfortable, warm enough that I didn't need a cover over my tired feet still red and indented from my shoes I'd tied too tight. Neither did I need a pillow behind me, the wood of the backboard kept me cool and propped up without needing any cushion. Sweat seeped through my shirt which left me a bit miffed because I knew when I eventually stood up it would peel off my back and give me a chill. A petty complaint I realize, but I value my comfort. Anyway, I knew I should get up and take a shower soon, but I was still enthralled by the thoughts that ran through my head just staring into a corner. *laughs* I know it's strange but I really enjoy allowing my thoughts to wander in and out of reality. While I acknowledged the usual things like needing to wash up, I would also venture outward into random daydreams that I could never explain. Except, today saw me repeating the same image in a kaleidoscopic manner that gradually grew darker and more violent, flooding my mind with a mixture of raw panic and anger, though not an ounce of regret.

I had to shake my head in order to clear my thoughts and recollect myself, allowing my peripheral vision to return. I moved slowly, more out of lethargic ambivalence than physical exhaustion, letting my eyes move with my head. Sitting up, my shirt peeled off my back sending a chill up my spine, but I continued to shift my weight to the edge of the bed. Jumping a good five inches down to the floor sent a dull pain through the soles of my feet and a jolt up my legs. I staggered a bit, wiggling my toes to regain blood flow, but eventually found my balance and proceeded to the bathroom. About ten steps is my usual distance covered to reach it, though this time I had shortened the trip having to leap over a former friend's urine puddle slowly seeping into my floor.

Turning the handle in the tub on a relatively high temperature, I quickly closed the curtain before the water began to spray out of the shower-head. Undressing, I realized I had left my phone on the bed and today I felt this shower just needed something, music, stand-up comedy, something. I walked back into my bedroom, too focused on retrieving my device, I absent-mindedly stepped in the acrid smelling puddle of urine. The shallow pool was just a bit cool instead of cold, which meant it was still rather fresh. This situation bored its way into my amygdala, taking in the combination of my tired muscles becoming increasingly more difficult to flex, the work I had done that put me in this situation, and my aching foot was now in a collection of waste that would surely stain my carpet. I was furious, and my former friend knew my fury in the blur that was the next minute. Unable to move with knife strikes lining up and down his spine, I couldn't care if he could feel my knee dig into his temple; whether or not he could perceive that more of his ribs had been cracked didn't concern me.

He laid on the floor beaten and paralyzed, the previous night allowing me a glimpse at himself I hadn't foreseen. His guilty pleasure was slurred at me with each word engulfed in a wretched stench of microwave pizza bites and cheap liquor, "Hey man, you ever think about like what exactly makes people horny and why?" I wasn't a stranger to his odd questions when he self-medicated and this one he had asked at least twice before, but I was also a bit drunk and didn't mind his nonsense so I replied, "Yeah I do, it's probably a mix of things but I guess it comes down to whatever sticks with you when you're browsing through sites that'll test your Firewall." He laughs and responds with what I refer to as a liquor lecture, essentially a rant his inebriation leads him to believe is intelligent and coherent, "Well...you like younger girls?" This was new, usually he would just laugh and jump into his liquor lecture about movies or what have you, rarely was there a follow-up question. I say to him, "Yeah I guess, I mean sometimes it's kinda weird if they look too young. If that happens I just feel like a creep like I'm back in high school awkwardly staring at girls at lunch." He uncoils his tongue from the roof of his mouth, "I tell you what's better. Those eighth grade girls man, they let you do anything." My heart begins to thunder in my chest before he states, "Hey, if you go younger than that you can get 'em with candy and say it's natural to get-HMMPH..."

My hand enraptured his mouth with destructive purpose, each finger felt independent of my will and dug into his face like maggots pursuing dead meat. With tears of sheer rage in my eyes I attacked him as an unbridled savage, instantly my roommate and good friend became nothing but a living mass that to me didn't deserve to live.

None of it had seemed real, the alcohol had made me partially numb while my anger blurred my surroundings. I had never experienced tunnel vision like this, I was focused yet I possessed a sadism that kept my reason in tact. Thoughts that I had only known to dwell within the disturbed suddenly gripped my being tightly, driving me to draw a kitchen knife from the caddy. Completely dumbfounded with myself and unsure of exactly what I wanted to do, I approached his unconscious body with the knife clenched, glad that he was still breathing.

With white knuckles I slashed at his back just above his waist, and kept slashing up and down his spine going deeper with each cut. I felt the knife grind against bone, which guided my hand between vertebrae, stopping only when the blood that trickled from his wounds became milky. Spinal fluid intermingled with hemoglobin in a satisfying display that signaled my victory. His weak breathing persisted.

Being of a large frame, pulling him by his ankles face down to my bedroom proved to be a daunting task. His weight was one obstacle, next was his hoodie and gut which both seemed to grab at the carpet as it rode up his chest. Luckily the bloody mixture soaked into the fabric before it could trickle down and leave a trail from the spot of his assault. His face, though battered, only left a small amount of blood I could easily soak up, the rest being absorbed by his sweat shirt as it wrapped around his head. My already aching feet and joints howled at me for this exertion, but despite the residual pain from working for roughly ten hours prior, I had more business to attend to.

Dragging his obese carcass into my room, sweat stung my eyes while his eyes gave a dead stare that seemed to follow me (of course it does). I saw his chest expand, showing he was breathing, and heard his breathe become ever so slightly more hastened after slapping him a bit. I was hopeful that he was awake now, and so I accepted that he was. He urinated himself, I presumed out of fear.

It was around 2:50 A.M. when our staring match begun, I refused to say a word. His eyes watered slightly, both red and dry now due to his inability to blink, mine were in the same state out of choice. As if I had been led by twisted strings in the hands of some sick puppeteer, I intended to psychologically torture him by not allowing my actions to be predictable. Beginning to realize my buzz had worn off completely, I had a moment where I saw what I was doing with utter clarity, and I still felt no inclination to stop. I heard what he said, I attacked him with a demonic ferocity, and I paralyzed him; not a single second was dedicated to the morality of my reaction, this deviation into informal justice fulfilled some deep desire to rid the innocent of abuse.

I hadn't touched him for several hours, only stared, around 6:30 A.M. I let my gaze fall, retreating to my bed I sat upright with my back against the headboard. I let the rising sun coming in through the window shine on my face, its path through the trees and neighboring apartment buildings cast an orange inverted triangle of light streaking down my face and chest, bisecting my image. It was bright but not jarring or disruptive, it was merely warm, and it's in that position I stayed looking up into the corner of my room, staring in a desperate attempt see another image. I didn't feel bad for what I had done, but I recognized a sense of disgust in how much I enjoyed causing him pain and fear. His crimes were punishable by far worse than I could deliver to him myself, but should I really take that much pleasure in doing what I can?

Another hour passed, another bladder-full seeped from his rotten member, and I needed to shower. After landing another thirty or so blows into his limp body, bringing us back to now, I hopped with my piss-soaked foot held in the air, placing it in the shower stream first the rest of my body following after. It wasn't until I sat down and allowed the hot water to flow down over my head that I realized I had left my phone on my bed near the pedophile, exactly what I needed. The sound of the shower and nothing else didn't bother me enough to make me move, it was actually pretty relaxing. Having not slept the night before, I began to drift in and out with the water and steam acting as my warm blankets, allowing my mind to wander to times in my life that are far less hectic than now. It was peaceful, I felt at ease not having to dwell on the evil I had stopped, until music started to blare from my phone causing my heart to sink.

I shot up, slipping out of the shower, tumbling into the curtain, wrapping myself in the cloth and plastic in writhing, half-asleep movements. Unsheathing myself, I yanked open the bathroom door to the same scene I saw before, only now with my phone ringing. Dodging the pile of filth, I reached for a screen displaying the name "Dad" while playing Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Voodoo Chile." The rush out still tensing my weary muscles, I answered,

"Hey Dad!"

"Hey buddy! How're you doing?"

"Alright y'know just getting out of the shower," hoping he couldn't hear the shower head still pouring down against the empty tub, "not really feeling a hundred percent but I'll be alright."

"Ah alright, sorry you're not feeling well, uh, you think you'd be up to having lunch today with your mom and me?"

I don't usually say no to a meal I don't have to pay for, but given my current situation today I can make an exception, "I'm sorry Dad, I don't think I can, it's a little difficult to breathe right now, I don't know if you noticed I'm breathing pretty hard." The adrenaline kept my heart rate up and left me out of breathe.

"Yeah I did notice that. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later, let you get some rest. Hope you feel better."

"Thanks, talk to you later Dad, love you."

"Love you too, bye."

"Bye."

Well that was nerve-wracking, my heart still fluttering violently as I tried to catch my breathe. The deeper I inhaled the more the smell of waste became prevalent. Looking behind me I noticed a refreshed pool of urine still dribbling from my captive along with the foul scent of feces. If I didn't have to occupy the same space as him I would leave him to stew in his excretions, but I do not possess that privilege. Strangely, when I saw the initial pool I didn't feel a need to soak it up and prevent the carpet from being stained, I could smell it and felt it beneath my bare foot, but nothing about it moved me to clean it up. My focus on him kept my sense of urgency to address this matter dulled, and now I had an even bigger mess to clean.

Rolling him face-down and dragging him by his ankles, I had successfully kept the floor from suffering another, much more difficult to clean stain. However, I was unsuccessful in sparing my nose and eyes from the pungent stench that assaulted my sinuses. Pulling his dead-weight into the bathroom, I miraculously dumped him into the tub without getting anymore of his waste on me, and turned on the shower. I aimed the shower-head to hit his lower body and pulled him up into a sitting position to make breathing easier. I wanted him alive for as long as possible, his bleeding had stopped and his chest still expanded, and in order to keep him hydrated I aimed the shower-head into his gaping maw. His slacked jaw wouldn't allow him to drink so I had to turn his head up and move my hand down his throat so he'd swallow. As to whether this put him in danger of drowning, I didn't really care, it would only serve to inconvenience me but I was also confident that a quarter of a mouthful of water wouldn't kill him if it slid down his wind pipe. If it did anything it would cause him great terror in his inability to cough, but if he was still capable of breathing, he might still be able to swallow without this danger though I'm not entirely certain.

The water was kept running over him for about an hour and a half, I never turned the knob even a quarter of the way and by now I feared the cold had become enough. Pouring body wash all over him, I then thrust the knob to the hottest temperature it would reach. I watched him closely when the cold water rained down, his breathing picked up, trying desperately to cope with this assault of a sensation. I assumed his paralyzation kept him from shivering, that had to be horrifying, being stuck in a state where not even his reflexes could shiver and bring some sense of comfort. He had slid down in the tub a bit and just as I don't care to wash him I don't care to fix his position now. He will die in that tub at some point and he is not deserving of any relief, he must suffer.

When the hot water began to pour onto him I noticed no change in his breathing, maybe it felt nice after nearly freezing, but I knew that would pass quickly. His skin had become red and I hoped to see it blister in the heat. Though he was left burned a bit, the hot water ran out much quicker than I thought it would, so I let him have another round in the cold.

2:00 P.M. came before the stench finally seceded and I was finally satisfied with his suffering, at least in this manner. I was hungry, and more time away from him would increase his paranoia, it was time to build anticipation.

Leaving him in the tub, I retired to the living room with leftover pizza. Pulling up YouTube on the T.V., I selected a "top mix" playlist that started with a concert video I've seen a dozen times before. I was tired and didn't mind watching something I was at this point grossly familiar with. I watched the strobing lights outline the dark figures of the musicians, becoming lost in the display and the music which acted more like background noise than actual songs. I finished my pizza in less than ten minutes, time seeming to pass by almost without my knowledge. Checking the length of the video, it surprised me to see it had been playing for over an hour; I felt like I hadn't even watched the video and now it was almost over.

I laid my head back and let out a sigh, just realizing how much of a splitting headache I actually had, forcing me to close my eyes and try desperately to relax so I might sleep it away. My energy was exhausted beyond me being able to move or else I would have at least tried to stumble my way to the drawer holding my aspirin, but no, I was trapped, and sunk deeper into my chair.

Eventually, sleep crept over me, but I did not relax. I laid like a gruesome statue, my body unwilling to move, even my chest laid flat no matter how hard I breathed. I couldn't tell if night had actually come so quickly or my vision was occluded. Was I trapped in a dream or had I woken up only to be put in the position of my friend? I was all to aware of his presence only twenty feet away. Unable to move, cold, burned, and waiting to die but determined to live. I could feel him struggle to draw in every breathe, I heard his heart beat not impulsively but with purpose. His fingers ached to animate and stretch to grip the edge of the tub. His arms begged to heave his frame back onto his feet, the desire for revenge overwhelmed his numb nerves, forcing them to coil in revolt against the severed connections to his brain.

Terror struck me in a profound way, it was impossible for any of this to occur but he persisted to defy my grasp of reality. I laid paralyzed in an unrestful state where a dream seemed all too real, I knew it was a dream, it had to be a dream, but dread crawled on me at pace with his movements. I couldn't rationalize what was happening as any doubt in him ambling towards me had leapt away. I couldn't turn and see and I couldn't hear a step but I felt him, I felt his joints popping, I felt his muscles tense and ache, I felt anger extend from his hands to grasp my throat. I choked and gagged, I could feel icy appendages tighten around my neck, closing my windpipe, numbness scattering across my body like a mass of cold insects. Gripped in a horrendous, suffocating coil that began to erase my perception, until I was jolted awake!

Desperately gasping for breathe and writhing out of my chair, I stumbled to my feet and reached for the light switch. Letting my eyes adjust, I breathed deeply, relieved to be able to move again. Compelled by fury I ran back to see my victim still in place in the tub, I grabbed him by his shirt yelling in his face, "You deserve this!" I thrust on the bath water, plugging the drain, and waited impatiently for the tub to fill. Staring back into his cold gaze, "I will not let you win, what you said is unforgivable! Why? Just why did you have to say that? Was it supposed to be funny? Was it...supposed to be funny?"

A new dread overtook me immediately, we were both drunk in that moment, he was clearly more inebriated than I was, we both had an affinity for dark humor, did I torture and prepare to kill my friend because of a joke? No. No! I couldn't have, I can't accept that I did, he's a pedophile, I heard him!

I heard him drunkenly say something he has never said before, even on our most drunken of nights.

I let slip his shirt and his body fell back into the still rising water, the displacement bringing the water level just up to his nose and mouth. A minute passed before it rose over his head completely. No bubbles rose from his mouth though, how long had he been dead before? I was so drained that I didn't even turn off the water, it kept rising until it crested the edge of the tub and spilled onto the floor.

I saw a dead body floating up in the water, that dead body was my friend, and in a surreal moment I felt compelled to drop to me knees so that I could place my head under the water and breathe in.